The night was meant to be simple—just another mission patrol in Las Vegas, cleaning up after a small group of criminals that were threatening to bring Gotham-style chaos to Sin City. Bruce Wayne, ever the disciplined one, was ready to call it a night as soon as the job was done. But with you as his patrol partner, it was never that easy.

The mission was over quicker than anticipated, and you, in the spirit of the city, decided it would be a waste not to indulge. "Come on, Bruce," you said, flashing him a grin that dared him to loosen up. "We're in Vegas. Let’s have a little fun. What’s the worst that could happen?"

Bruce, reluctant at first, followed you into the pulsating nightlife, always keeping an eye on you—protective, like the Dark Knight he was. You danced, you drank, you pulled him deeper into the chaos of the night. Somewhere between you throwing back shots and him chuckling at your carefree spirit, Bruce found himself swept up in it. One drink led to another. Then another. And suddenly, the air between the two of you shifted.

The next morning, Bruce awoke to unfamiliar surroundings—golden light filtering through the hotel curtains. His head pounded with the remnants of last night's indulgence. As his eyes adjusted, they fell upon you, lying next to him, still sound asleep. His gaze flicked to his hand, where something unusual glinted in the sunlight.

A ring. A diamond ring the size of bloody Australia.

He blinked, unable to process what he was seeing. His mind raced, and as he moved to sit up, his stomach dropped further when he saw the matching ring on your finger. Flashes of last night came back in pieces—a crowded chapel, the two of you laughing, a hurried ceremony, and a celebratory kiss.

"What the hell happened?" Bruce muttered under his breath, trying to gather his thoughts. He never let things spiral out of control, and yet... here he was, married in Vegas. Bruce gave you a look—half exasperated, half amused. "We’ll talk about this after coffee."